


Classical Dorks

by indecisive (darling_highness)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4024447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darling_highness/pseuds/indecisive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kass asked me to write a stucky au where one's an artist and the other is a mailman and you'll see the rest</p>
            </blockquote>





	Classical Dorks

At the corner of Brand and Holleden Brooke there was a Victorian style house that marked the end of Steve's route. It wasn't that he didn't like being a mail man. But it was the occupant of this house that was even better than the nice old lady with more cats than there was stars in the sky or the housewife that openly flirted with him even though he was very openly gay. No, it was this house that made his day, because the owner of this house was the most amusing person Steve had ever experienced. So he hitched his mail tote higher on his shoulder and climbed the cracked stone steps, bringing himself to rap three times on the cherry red door. As he stood waiting, he contemplated ringing the bell when a crash echoed from inside followed by a loud string of curses. The door swung open there stood a young man with two days worth of stubble on his cheeks and a smock over his clothes, though that didn't seem to stop paint from being all over his clothes and streaked through his dark hair. The sight was comical enough to crack a smile across Steve's face, only causing the recipient of the mailman's visit to scowl. “How can anyone look that happy this early in the day?” he grumbled.

“It's almost two in the afternoon” Steve continued to smile like the ray of sunshine that he was. “I have another package for you, Mr. Barnes.” He handed the man a heavy brown box and a clip board.

The artist grabbed the pen and squiggled a weak attempt at a signature where he was required and returned the clipboard. “Just call me Bucky. You stop by so often it's pointless to keep being formal.” Bucky squinted at Steve's chest for a moment. “So you're Steve then?”

The blond's heart fluttered and he nodded. “That's me.”

Bucky smiled blearily at his new friend. “Well all right Steve, see you next time. Thanks for the mail.”

*

Bucky received a lot of mail, be it packages or taxes. He got a lot of it, and Steve couldn't be happier. Every time he got to knock on that bright red door, his heart would flutter with anticipation. Bucky seemed happy enough to see Steve on occasion. They stopped to chat more than once.

“So you're an artist.”

“Yup.”

“Painter? Obviously.”

“Yeah.”

“What're you working on?”

Bucky smirked. “Big project. Huge. One of my all time masterpieces.” He was leaned against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest in a casual stance.

Steve stood on the porch, looking a little awkward because he didn't have anything to lean on himself. “Of what?”

“I can't tell you!” Bucky cried with a chuckle. “That would ruin the mystery of it all. You wouldn't stop to talk to me if I didn't keep you wondering.”

Steve lifted his eyebrows. “You sure about that?”

The artist tilted his head and shrugged. “Mmmmm.... Pretty sure.”

“Well, I beg to differ,” he replied.

“So if I invited you in for coffee...” he mused.

“I certainly wouldn't object. I mean, I'm supposed to, it's in the job description, but I think I can make an exception.”

Bucky stepped aside and swung an arm up. “Be my guest for the morning. I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”

They entered the old Victorian together, Bucky leading Steve down a narrow corridor to a kitchen that matched the outer motif, decorated with high vaulted ceilings and solid wood paneling. Steve felt like he had been kicked back into 1949 the way it was decorated. He absolutely adored it. Bucky directed him to sit at a marble-topped island. “Your house is stunning,” Steve noted, taking in his surroundings. The old cabinets and abundance of natural light made him feel right where he belonged. Steve had a soft spot for old fashioned things.

“What can I say? My grandparents knew how to pick 'em. Do you take cream?” Bucky fiddled with a moka for a moment, donning a mismatched pair of mugs and cream cup with it. He poured their coffee and sat across from the mailman, peering over his mug at him as he sipped.

Steve poured a dab of cream into the drink and sipped at the hot liquid. “Your grandparents bought this place?” Bucky nodded.

“I couldn't stand to move when my parents died, and the house was paid for, so I stayed here,” he relinquished. “Having one less thing to worry about paying for is every artist's dream, I guess,” he laughed dryly.

“Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that.” The conversation was taking a turn for the worse so Steve tried to lighten the mood. “Do you live alone?”

Bucky shrugged. “Just me and my dog. She's good company, though. What about you?”

“I live alone,” he said. They sat in silence, staring at one another and sipping their coffee.

“Okay, this is getting a little two awkward. I'm sorry. I'm not completely awake yet, so I have no idea what to say.” He smiled sheepishly and bowed his head.

Steve could see streaks of yellow paint in his tousled hair today. He grinned his trademark smile and asked “Do you use paint for shampoo or something? You always have some paint in your hair.” Steve reached across the table and touched Bucky's cropped hair, examining the paint stuck in the strands.

The artist turned his curious gaze upon his new companion, eyebrows raised. “Art is a pretty messy business. Kind of like life, but more beautiful. Easier to figure out.”

“So you're a philosopher too, huh?” Steve dropped his hand to the table once more. He ran his fingers along a swirl of marble. “Art is a window to the soul. From the subject to the colours used, the artist paints more than just an image. They're building a window for people to see what's happening inside themselves. I used to draw when I had time. It was an outlet. Got all my emotions on one paper in the form of a person or anything else.”

Bucky was watching Steve with an unreadable look, but his lips curved into a gentle smile. “I could tell you liked art. Maybe you could draw me some time,” Bucky chuckled. “I'm kidding! Don't give me that face! I know how annoying it is to get that question.”

Steve eased his pointed look of annoyance and nudged the artist with the toe of his boot. “I wouldn't mind drawing you, actually.”

“I'll paint you if you draw me. How about that? It'll be so fun!” Bucky put his feet against Steve's thigh and pushed him playfully. They finished their coffee with jovial conversation polite farewells. 

*

Steve didn't come back with another package until two weeks later. He felt it might be intrusive if knocked on a regular mail call. He was elated when another brown paper wrapped box addressed to a Mr. James Buchanan Barnes found its way to his mail load. The mailman rang the bell this time and stood in his usual place on the porch. A whoop and a series of loud crashes could be heard through the open windows to his left, and the sound of running feet in the hall. The vermillion door swung open and Bucky burst from inside, launching himself at Steve. “I've done it! Steve, I've done it! My masterpiece! It's- it's” He shouted with joy and grabbed the blond by the shoulders, dancing like a mad man. “I'm so happy I could just kiss you!” He beamed up at the man, eyes twinkling with pride. The excitement was too much to handle and Bucky planted a clumsy kiss on Steve's mouth. He jumped back like he had been bitten by a snake, the air between them suddenly going still. “Oh my God, I'm so sorry!” Bucky sounded hoarse, stricken with fear. His excitement soon returned, however, and he could barely contain it.

Steve was taken by surprise with the whole ordeal and just gazed upon the artist, shock twisting his features. “It's fine,” he breathed. “Are you going to show me the painting or what? I've been waiting to see it for months now.” Bucky grinned with excitement and grabbed Steve by the arm, pulling him inside. He led them into a large room with sunlight bouncing off the warm coloured furniture and walls. On the far side of the room an enormous canvas was illuminated by the rays of yellow light. On the canvas was painted a detailed greenscape dotted with people in old fashioned clothing and swimsuits. A pair of boys were hanging from a tree and a trio wading in a river clear as day. A cluster of lads and ladies lounged on white outdoor furniture, the women holding parasols of pink and blue, and the boys courting them in dapper attire. It was stunning. Stunning was an understatement. Steve couldn't believe how lifelike and classically artistic the people and landscape looked. He stared in silent awe with Bucky eyeing him in hopes of any reaction.

The artist wrung his hands in the silence. He feared Steve hated it and began to blabber in a furious attempt to distract from the tapestry. “I-it's not that great. I mean the idea's been done before,” he laughed, throat tight and voice high. “It was a waste of time- this was a waste of your time- I'm sorry I didn't mean to-” Bucky's hands trembled and he bowed his head.

“Bucky,” Steve interrupted. “Bucky, it's beautiful. I- I- I have no words to describe how amazing this is!” Bucky stared, wide-eyed at the blond. “I couldn't have asked for a better first impression of your abilities.” He clapped a hand on the other's back and grinned. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” Bucky smiled a little, looking up at Steve with visible relief on his face.

Then, Steve pulled him closer and pressed a chaste kiss to the raven-haired man's lips. “Great job, Buck.” A coy smile crept across his lips as he leaned away. Bucky only stared at him, a pinkish flush touching his cheeks. “Can I buy you dinner? This is certainly something to celebrate.”

Bucky nodded. “I have to get ready first,” he muttered.

“Same here,” Steve agreed. “I'll come back in, say, an hour?”

“Make it two. Paint takes a lot of effort to get out of hair.” The painter displayed a sheepish grin, running his fingers through his hair. “Where are we going?”

Steve shrugged. “I know this great place that overlooks the coast. It's pretty killer if you like sea food.”

“I love it. I think I know where you're talking about. Is it on Laguna?” Bucky cocked his head to the side. Steve nodded. “Awesome. It's a date. I'll see you at five.”


End file.
